Stoney Beck

by Jean Houghton-Beatty

  She paused, waiting for a comment from Ada, at least a word or two of sympathy.

  “Go on,” Ada said. “I’m still here.”

  It was all Biddy could do not to hurl the phone across the room. “When I wake up I find Sarah’s gone off on her own. Soon as I saw her note, I looked out the window but there was no sign of her. That’s when I looked over at my car and noticed the front tire was—”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You had a puncture.”

  Biddy spat into the phone. “You really are a first-class bitch, Ada Malone. Come and take a look at the bloody tire if you don’t believe me.”

  “Yes, well, you needn’t worry,” Ada said in the same needling tone. “Jenny Robinson went with her. You know Jenny don’t you? So capable, not a flibbertigibbet like most girls these days. Sarah will be right as rain with her.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I have to go,” Ada said. “The shop’s crowded. I’m swamped and here all by myself until Jenny gets back.”

  A loud click then the dial tone. Biddy slammed down her receiver. She hated that woman. Always had. But she hated that girl even more. Here she was sweet-talking her way further and further in. Even going with Sarah to the hospital. Biddy lit a cigarette, and took long deep drags as she tapped her lighter on the table while weighing up the situation. What if Sarah had something incurable, maybe even fatal? How would life be without that great big mongoloid albatross hanging round Biddy’s neck? Maybe there was a God in heaven after all. Even if Sarah recovered, Biddy could insist, as her, well, as her guardian, that the girl be declared incompetent. Wasn’t today’s incident proof positive the girl needed to be put away. Leave her alone for more than five minutes, and she’s off down the road lickety-split.

  Biddy flicked ash onto the floor. Even though Sarah was slow, she was dependable. Sometimes she’d surprise even Biddy. Her room was the neatest in the house and whatever the task, she did it well without complaining, even if it took all day. She kept herself clean, was always washing and ironing her clothes, shampooing her hair every other day. Still, the Social Services didn’t know these things, and surely they’d take Biddy’s word over a mongoloid’s. Biddy would tell them how hard she’d tried until she’d come down with the arthritics. She remembered the paragraph in the will that stated if Sarah predeceased her or some unforeseen circumstance arose, everything would go to Biddy. She’d get the house, the money, the whole shebang. Surely if Sarah was committed to an institution, it would be classed as an unforeseen circumstance. And yet, Biddy couldn’t stop thinking about that girl. If only Biddy had left her alone, she may never have become intrigued, never bothered to find out Biddy used to be a midwife. She may be long gone by now, probably on the continent somewhere, or even on her way back to America. Biddy dropped her cigarette end in the half-empty cup and listened to the hiss. There had to be a way to get the girl out of Stoney Beck before Angus Thorne came back from France.

  ***

  The grieving family had left the waiting room and Jenny now had it all to herself. Still shaky, she struggled to concentrate on the crossword in yesterday’s Daily Mirror. What was the capital of Turkey, six letters. Surely it was Istanbul but that had eight letters. She scratched her head with the pencil and moved on to the next clue. A nurse stuck her head in the doorway. “You can see Sarah now. We’ve given her a sedative but it’ll be about twenty minutes before it takes effect.”

  Sarah was propped up on four or five pillows and wearing a white hospital gown. She looked lost and lonely in that long narrow ward full of sick people she didn’t know. She smiled self-consciously as Jenny came near.

  “How’s it going, pumpkin?” Jenny said softly as she pulled a chair close to the bed.

  “OK. Just sleepy.” She poked Jenny in the chest and smiled. “You called me a pumpkin.” She bit her lip and reached for Jenny s hand. “I’ve done it this time. Biddy’ll go mad when she finds out.”

  “That’s crazy talk, Sarah. It’s not your fault you got sick.”

  “No, but she’ll murder me for walking all that way by myself. She looked beyond Jenny to the ward entrance. “Is she out there?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I tried to wake her, but she’d had too much mother’s milk.”

  “Mother’s milk? What’s that?”

  “It’s some stuff she drinks.”

  “Oh?”

  Sarah looked down and traced a finger along the pattern of leaves and acorns on the faded bedspread’s tree. “When she drinks it, she bumps into things then gets sleepy. Sometimes she sleeps all day and all night, and—”

  “And what?”

  “I can’t tell you. She’ll clobber me.”

  “No she won’t because I won’t tell.”

  “Spit on your hand and cross your heart, then hold up your hand like this.”

  Jenny did as she was told.

  “Now say hope to die.”

  “Hope to die.”

  “She wanders round the house talking to herself. Really loud sometimes, and then laughs. She laughs at nothing and sometimes she even screams. I always pretend I don’t notice.”

  “Good girl. What else does she do?”

  Sarah clasped her hands and held them under her chin. “Sometimes bad things. Really bad.”

  “Tell me Sarah. What sort of things?”

  “She blindfolds me and makes me stand on a stool even when I’m not naughty, and —”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny saw the woman in the next bed leaning toward them.

  “Do you want to whisper it,” she said to Sarah, “or would you rather wait till you get home.”

  Sarah shook her head as she put a hand round her mouth and whispered in Jenny’s ear.

  “She makes me stand in the corner in just my knickers. Sometimes she even forgets about me and falls asleep.”

  Jenny felt a sudden mixture of anger and pity course through her like rain. She put her arms round Sarah’s trembling body. “Have you told this to anyone else?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I nearly told Ada once, but didn’t think she’d believe me. There’s nobody else except Andy, but I can’t talk about knickers to him.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” Jenny said.

  Sarah leaned back on the mountain of pillows. “It’s ’cause you’re my best friend. My very best friend of all time.”

  “Now, don’t you be saying that. One of these days I’ll be gone, back to America. And anyway, you said Ada and Andy were your very best friends.”

  “I know, but Ada’s old. Said she’s pushing fifty. Andy’s nice, but he’s a boy. They’re not girls like us.” She looked the length of the ward. “I’m safe in here. Biddy can’t get me and the ward’s full of nice ladies.” She smiled at the woman in the next bed as if to prove her point, but the woman, her leg in a cast from hip to ankle, turned away and pretended to read the magazine open on her lap. Jenny felt a jolt. The woman’s face was heavily made up and her hair wrapped around big rollers. She didn’t acknowledge Sarah’s comment even though Jenny knew she’d heard. Jenny remembered Andy’s words. Sarah was up against it all right, and yet she strove so hard to fit in. And it wasn’t only Biddy, bad as she was. There were others like the woman in the next bed, those who stared out of curiosity or ignored her altogether.

  Sarah’s bottom lip trembled as she turned back to Jenny. She raised her hand to pick at her face.

  The nurse tapped Jenny on the shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now.”

  “But I just got here.”

  “It’s hospital policy, I’m afraid. You were allowed some time because you came with Sarah. Visiting hours are from two to eight. It’s just twelve fifteen. Perhaps you could come back later.”

  Jenny got to her feet. “It’s not the same in North Carolina. People pretty much come and go as they please.”

  “Uhm, yes well, it’s different here.” The nurse ran an efficient hand over Sarah’s bedspread, smoothing out the wrinkles. “T
oo much disruption for the patient.”

  Sarah held out her arms, suddenly very frail. As Jenny bent to give her a hug, Sarah whispered in her ear. “That lady in the next bed’s very poorly, I can tell. She smiled at me when you weren’t looking, and I bet her leg hurts. I think she’s nice.”

  Jenny kissed the top of Sarah’s head. “You’re the one who’s nice, Sarah. You hang in there and we’ll have you back in Malone’s in no time.”

  Jenny walked beside the nurse to the ward entrance. “Can you put some cream on her face?” she asked as they moved out of earshot. “It looks sore and she’s always picking at it.”

  The nurse nodded. “We’ll take care of it. It’s from the eczema she has.”

  “May I use your phone?” Jenny said. “I need to call for a taxi.”

  The nurse waved her arm toward the hall. “There’s a public phone at the end of the corridor.”

  From the doorway, Jenny turned to wave, but Sarah’s eyes were closed. The medicine was already taking effect. As Jenny faced the miles of hallway, she felt the inner trembling coming back, racing up and down her arms. She wiped the perspiration from her upper lip with the back of her hand, while she tried to focus on remembering what was in the brochure on panic attacks that Dr. Bissell had given her. Rapid heart beat, breaking out in a sweat, dizziness.

  Deep breaths helped, the pamphlet had said. Jenny clung to the rail that ran along the walls, and set off at a crawl, her mouth open, not sure whether she was taking deep breaths or gasping her last. As she edged ever nearer to the phone, she tried to quicken her pace but her legs trembled so much, it was all she could do to walk at all.

  The double doors at the end of the corridor swung open, and Jenny stopped in surprise as she watched Father Woodleigh breeze through. She leaned against the wall and dabbed at her face with a tissue as she waited for him to reach her.

  “Why it’s Jenny, our American friend,” he said with a surprised smile. “You’re the last person I expected to see. What are you doing here?”

  She stuck her hands in her pockets and stammered her way through the story of Sarah’s collapse. “She’s been sick for ages, poor thing,” she said, using Sarah’s condition as an excuse for her own pathetic behavior.

  The little network of lines around the priest’s eyes deepened. “Are you all right? You’re very pale. Can I walk with you to the entrance?”

  Jenny shook her head and forced her mouth into some sort of smile. “No, honestly. I’m OK. It’s just that it’s like an oven in here. Can’t wait to get outside.”

  “At least let me run you back to Stoney Beck. I have some business there.”

  “Oh yes please. That’d be great.”

  He pointed toward the doors. “There’s a tearoom in the lobby. Perhaps if you wait there?”

  “No, no,” she said too loud, too fast. I’ll wait outside near the steps.” She looked down the hall. “Is this the way out?”

  The priest looked at her even more closely. “Just follow the arrows. But you look pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She faked a laugh. “Yes, honestly. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be on my way then. One of my flock is desperately ill. Her family’s expecting me.”

  Jenny watched him walk away, perhaps to perform the last rites on the mother of those people who’d huddled together in the waiting room. And she did feel better, almost normal. Talking to him had broken the back of her fear. No matter how hard she tried to blame the priest, to hate him even, it was impossible. Because of him, her step was surer now, more solid, as she neared that last door. She nodded to the woman in the bathrobe shuffling slowly down the corridor, hanging on to her IV pole, and smiled at the little girl of about ten who had no hair, yet stood at the door of her ward, smiling back and hugging her Barbie doll. A good-looking guy in pajamas and robe, and leaning on a crutch hobbled toward her. “Hello, beautiful,” he said and winked as they passed each other. With that final door just yards away, Jenny returned the grin and even winked back. One big push of the doors, and she was in the hospital’s lobby. She longed for a soda to slake her thirst, but marched past the tearoom and onto the front terrace. The rain had stopped and a watery sun shone through a break in the clouds. The air smelled of wet grass, new mown, while a pair of swans, the first Jenny had seen in flight, flew low overhead, across the hospital grounds and headed for a lake just visible in the distance. She looked up at the gargoyles, not so scary now she was headed out.

  Half an hour later, the priest and Jenny walked across the hospital parking lot to his car.

  “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise for your friend,” he said as he stuck his key in the lock. “At least it got her in here fast. Now they’re bound to run tests.”

  “I hope so.”

  “How’s the sightseeing coming along?” he asked as he switched on the ignition.

  “Haven’t done much. Sarah asked me to fill in for her at the shop. They’re short-staffed and I hated to say no. Anyway, it’ll probably only be for a few days.”

  “That was extremely generous, especially since you’re over here on holiday, and you two have just met.”

  “Ah, that’s OK. I don’t have an itinerary. My return ticket’s open, and I don’t have a job to go back to. Not yet. Besides, I like the Lakes. And the Hare and Hounds is a nice friendly place to stay. Do you know it?”

  “Yes, it’s fairly well known. People come from all over.” He turned to her and smiled. “You for instance.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” she said, looking out the window at the everlasting hills. “Have you been at St. Mary’s long?”

  “Going on five years. I was born in London, but never had a church down south. For years I had a parish in Birmingham, then Liverpool. When I was appointed to St. Mary’s, I couldn’t believe my luck. I’ve always liked this part of England.”

  “Ah, so you’d been here before?”

  “A long time ago. I’d come here on holidays to hike.”

  “I didn’t know priests did things like that.”

  He laughed. “What? Exercise? In the winter I loved to ski. Still do if I ever get the chance. Even the pope John Paul liked to ski when he was younger.”

  Jenny wanted to ask him how many years it had been since he took his vows, but somehow the words wouldn’t come. It was as if she’d lost the opportunity. Perhaps another time.

  Charles Woodleigh shifted gears to tackle the steep hill looming in front of them. Even though he kept his eye on the road, he was conscious of Jenny’s gaze on him at times, almost as if she were weighing him up. “What do your parents think of you traveling around England all by yourself?” he asked.

  “Mom and Dad both passed away this year. I was an only child. There’s just my Uncle now.”

  He didn’t turn his head to look at her, but he’d heard the break in her voice. “I’m so sorry. That must have been very hard.”

  “Yes. Yes, it was.”

  There was that last hill and Stoney Beck lay below them.

  She stretched out her hand to him when he pulled up at Malone’s. “Thanks for the lift, Father.”

  “My pleasure. If you get a chance to come again to St. Mary’s, it would be nice to see you. And, well, if you need someone to talk to, about anything at all, you know where to find me. If not, well, good luck, Jenny.”

  She looked toward the shop then back to him, suddenly reluctant to get out. He was on to her. She could tell by his voice. Oh, not that he was her father, but because of her crazy behavior in the hospital, he’d guessed something was bothering her. Why else would he say things like come to see him if she needed someone to talk to?

  Suddenly, afraid she might give herself away, she opened the door. “Thank you, Father, but I’m fine. She stepped out and bent down to the window. “There is one thing. Don’t know how long they’ll keep Sarah in, and I know you’re real busy, but if you’re in Craighead again any time soon and you have a few minutes, I bet she’d love it if you stuck your he
ad round the door and said hello.”

  “I’d already planned to visit even if you hadn’t asked. I’m at the hospital at least twice a week. Consider it done.”

  The priest watched her walk toward the shop and go inside. She was still grieving for her parents, which might explain her strange agitation in the hospital. She had Beverly’s same easy loping walk. Funny how he’d remember that after all these years. When he looked into Jenny’s eyes, it was as if he was looking at Beverly all over again. And even though the chances of Jenny being any relation were remote, the likeness was uncanny. He had been trying again to think of a way to ask her mother’s maiden name, but when Jenny said she had died, he had lost his nerve.

  Looking back now to that night all those years ago, when Charles had sat beside Beverly on the bench, love had been the furthest thing from his mind. He had gone to the Lakes to spend a month before entering the seminary. Within days of their meeting, they had made love and for the next couple of weeks, Charles’s dreams of becoming a priest had evaporated into the Lake District mist, while dreams of a wife and family had taken their place. How could he have known for her it was just an interlude. A couple of weeks later, he had murmured into her hair how much he loved her and wanted her to go to London to meet his parents. But she had pulled away from him and said something about not meaning to lead him on, then had gone inside the cottage and closed the door. When he rang the inn the next day, the landlord said Beverly had checked out, left on the morning train. He had hurt so much at the time, he thought he’d never get over it. But of course he had. He was only young, they both were. How could he blame her. It had all been too fast.

  Before Beverly had gone away, Charles had telephoned his mother and told her he had fallen in love with an American and planned to ask her to marry him. His mother had been livid but she’d had the last laugh when Beverly left him. And when his mother rang three weeks later to say there was a letter addressed to him that had been forwarded from the seminary, he’d asked her to read it to him over the phone. He had been accepted the letter had said. Straightaway he’d packed his things and arrived in London the next day.